The Guards stop in front of a pair of double doors. The placard beside them says “Restricted Access: Faculty Recreation Center—Staff Only.” One of the Guards waves a key card over the scanner, and the doors slide open. The smells of soap and sweat, oiled steel and pool chemicals all blend together as the warm air inside rushes over us. I draw the scents deep into my lungs, grateful to smell anything other than the reek of the catacombs and the body odor that clings to me.

The Guards drag off our mitts and unlock our restraints, dumping towels and changes of clothes in our arms. The Guard I frosted watches me warily.

“Chronos is giving you one hour to stretch your legs and clean up,” another says, checking the time on her watch. “The track and the locker rooms have been cordoned off for you to use. Sparring rooms are off-limits. So are the weight rooms. There are smazes inside and Guards stationed outside every door, so don’t try anything stupid.”

The door closes behind us, the slam echoing off the high walls around the indoor track. A water dispenser sweats on a table beside it, the melting ice shifting to reveal slivers of orange and lemon. Two protein packets rest beside a stack of paper cups. Kai dumps her towel and clothes on the floor, tears open a packet of powder, and shakes it into a cup of water. Not bothering to stir it, she swallows it down. Her hand shakes as she refills the cup, funneling the last of the wet powder into her mouth.

“We’ve only got an hour.” I jut my chin toward the track. “Might as well use it.”

Kai swirls the last drops on her tongue and follows me onto the rubber-coated surface, catching up to walk between the painted lines beside me. It feels good to move more than ten feet without hitting a wall.

We take the first lap slowly, in silence. There’s no point talking anyway. I count smazes as we round the track: One under the water table. One hovering in the air duct high on the far wall. One dark, twisty little fucker trailing behind us, close to the floor.

“Come on,” I say, veering off the track, one eye on the smazes as I test the lock on the door to the next room. I can smell it, the hot chlorine steaming through the gaps. It must be the faculty pool.

“Where are we going?” she asks.